Читать книгу Graham's Magazine, Vol. XLI, No. 6, December 1852 - Various - Страница 5

  Thy worth, O Iron! can be never told!

    Thou art the richest treasure of the mine!

    By thee great nations polished are and shine,

  And using thee contemn, may glittering gold —

  Hail! ever useful one! Art were now dead

    If wanting thee. Thou in our life-blood flowest;

    Where run streams, fountains, there thou likewise goest;

  War claims thee, for thy presence makes him red;

  The mariner his needle forms of thee,

    To guide him pilot-like across the main;

    From thee old oaks solidity, too, gain;

  In cinders, clay thou art found continually —

  Earth’s mineral strata yield to thee the palm;

  Thou canst make war – and mak’st the nations calm.